


Rite of Conquest

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage, F/F, F/M, Grievous misuse of object of antiquity, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Vaginal Fingering, vaguely historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: Jane has been waiting her whole career for this moment.Unfortunately so has Adelaide.
Relationships: Female archaeologist xconned by rival archaeologist and henchmen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 124
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Rite of Conquest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HostisHumaniGeneris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/gifts).



“Now you really mustn’t struggle like this, dear. You’ll only do yourself an injury.”

Adelaide’s voice was calm and reasonable. Under certain circumstances Jane might even have called it reassuring. However given that Adelaide’s crew had just trussed her, spread eagle, to the recently-stripped altar of the ancient order of the priests of the Ogdrian Empire, reassurance was thin on the ground.

Also thin on the ground was the long-lost treasure of the Ogdrian priesthood. Adelaide’s likely-looking crew had seen to that, bundling it all up most efficiently and carting it out the chamber door just as abruptly as they had entered, an uninvited invasion so soon after Jane herself had decoded the final cipher on the lock. She had just barely had time to raise her lamp in the gloom and exult in the discovery when Adelaide had set upon her—or rather, had set her thugs upon her.

There had been a struggle, but Jane had been the decisive loser of that altercation. Hands the size of _hams_ , honestly, where did Adelaide find such men? Her shirt, already damped to her skin and rather the worse for her trek from the docks to the burial mound, had suffered the greatest offences, and she was rather uncomfortably aware of Adelaide’s cool, green gaze flitting over the denuded strips of skin, liberally bedewed with sweat.

Of course, this was not how she had embarked on her expedition. She had worn light, practical garments that provided full coverage without oppression. It was not her fault that these choice garments had been—very well, she would own it— _deliberately_ and _strategically_ violated by the men who had grabbed her.

Really, their hands lingered too long in all the worst places, kneading, pulling, provoking her flesh. The one with the red neckerchief around a thick neck, hat pushed well up off his unlikely bulge of a forehead, had particularly capitalized on his opportunity. He had scarcely awaited the order before catching her around the neck with one arm and wedging his other hand between the softness of her thighs. This he used to hoist her almost entirely off the ground and hold her aloft while Adelaide had made her own entrance, surveyed the riches of the cavern, and nodded approvingly.

“Yes, this should do nicely. Pack it all up, now.”

Jane had tried to bear it bravely, the sight of them roving around the main chamber and probing in wonder at all they found, the chests, icons and funerary splendour of a civilization eons gone. Woven bags, their structural integrity long since compromised by the intrusion of damp and time, sat in weary half-guard over the contents that had spilled out at their split seams: uncut gems, coins and other glittering trinkets, dusty and glinting mutedly in the light cast by the searchers’ torches.

These contents were further violated by the pawing and jostling of the same men who had only just pawed and jostled her. Jane felt an aching kinship with the artefacts, offerings long since left to moulder, disturbed in their peace by people who did not understand their nature. Only Adelaide, of the group, could claim some comprehension of what they saw here, and she did not seem inclined to lecture. Instead she vanished into the inner sanctum, the private retreat of the Ogdrian High Priest and his acolytes, leaving Jane at the mercy of the brute who held her.

And he, she realized rapidly, was of a nature disinclined to mercy.

His hand between her legs became rather more than functional, the moment Adelaide departed. His fingers squeezed and probed until Jane let out a shriek, understanding, belatedly, what he was searching for. He slapped a perfunctory hand across her mouth and continued probing earnestly through the pleats and folds of her expedition culottes, digging his knuckle in until—

Jane gurgled plaintively behind his hand, and another man, a wiry, weather-browned whipcord of a fellow, looked over in some interest.

“Oho,” he said, “she showing you a nice time?”

“Not very friendly,” the man holding her admitted. “But we’ll see if we can’t teach her some manners.”

“Too good for the likes of us,” the second man predicted.

“Naw,” chuckled the man holding her. “Just wants a bit of warming-up, like, that’s all.”

Then had come the altar. Her limbs were pinioned with such ease she wanted to sob at the very futility of the struggle she tried to mount. Her wrists and ankles were affixed to each corner with a quartered length of rope drawn from a rucksack, and somehow her trousers had been ripped all up one inseam during the binding of her.

The man who bound her gazed down as though he had just served himself a banquet meal, and to Jane’s supreme mortification, his hand had rested with rough familiarity on her breast, which he squeezed until her eyes watered and she gave a shriek.

“Shh, now,” he scolded. His hand roved down, over her belly. The friend who had predicted she would be too good for them paused in his own labours to wander closer as well. “Just trying to show you that this doesn’t have to be a complete loss for you is all, love. We can still make sure you have a bit of fun.”

He rubbed roughly between her legs, and Jane struggled frantically against the ropes, her shrieks rising, melting into wails, and then gurgling off into nothing when the second man applied his hand roughly to her open mouth. He flourished a wicked-looking dagger fetched from a niche set in the side of the altar itself: the blade was an awful sight, and the handle in which it was set gleamed with a deep lustre that set Jane's professional senses reeling. A sacrificial knife.

“Less of that,” he advised. The edge of the blade lazily traced the line of her jaw, and his gaze raked her with even rougher appraisal than the first. “You know, Tom, I think you might be onto some—”

“What the hell is this?”

Adelaide’s voice cracked through the gloom, sending both men leaping back from their weeping, writhing conquest like two schoolboys surprised in the school kitchens after dark. The knife clattered impotently to the floor.

“Oh! We were just—”

“The question was rhetorical,” Adelaide said coldly. “Now come in here, all of you. There’s more to be gathered. And this is to be done properly, do you hear? No rush jobbing it, or none of you will see a penny for your efforts. Every item is to be accounted for, accurately catalogued, and packaged with all due care.”

They shuffled meekly away from the altar, disappearing into the inner sanctum with all the others, leaving Jane breathless, writhing and frightened on the altar. It was at this moment that Adelaide calmly urged her not to struggle so, lest she come to harm.

Jane couldn’t help but notice that the rips in her blouse and trousers seemed to invite Adelaide’s superior gaze to be linger rather more than Jane thought even gloating should allow for. Still, she could not let Adelaide’s illusion of concern pass unchallenged. She was still at least as much mistress of herself as that.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to worry about my wellbeing,” she huffed. Not the wittiest retort, maybe, but Adelaide at least did not condescend to laugh. She only arched one coppery brow and smiled almost pityingly down on her captive.

“But Janie, darling, who better than I to have a care for your fate? Didn’t you sink the entirety of that quaint little mystery cult’s funding into this expedition? And now here you are, entirely at my mercy, having just watched all my lovely strong boys carry away the very treasures you promised that funny little group of wizards you’d bring back safely to them. Really, pet, I feel quite _responsible_ you know.”

“Then give it back,” Jane suggested, brazenly. Adelaide trilled a beautiful laugh of what Jane could almost have sworn was genuine amusement, then patted her bare knee fondly.

“Oh my dear. I didn’t say I felt _sorry_.”

Of course not. Adelaide, Jane was sure, could never feel that.

Adelaide had been a professional thorn in Jane’s side since they’d graduated from Oxford together, at a time when the very few women who _were_ graduating from Oxford weren’t usually doing so in their field. They’d been considered rather droll at the time, and everybody imagined they must be either bitter rivals or best friends, but in truth they had been neither. Not at the time. That had come later.

Adelaide’s first overture of friendship had been made the night Jane got her appointment to the department, and Jane, naively imagining the gesture was made in the same spirit she would have made the same gesture herself, had gone out for drinks that . . . well, she honestly still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but they’d had more in them than gin, that was for sure. The resulting performance everybody told her she’d put on had been seared into every memory but Jane’s own, she had lost her appointment, and Adelaide had taken her place.

It had taken her over a year to secure another position in her field, and Adelaide in the meantime had performed _adequately_. Which seemed to bother Adelaide even more than it soothed Jane, honestly. That she was merely adequate, whereas within a few years Jane had regained most of the professional acclaim she might have enjoyed if she hadn’t lost her first post, and was even nearly prepared to forgive Adelaide, if not altogether forget what she had done, when they had both gone up against each other in the running for a research grant and _somehow_ there had been photographs.

Published.

Distributed.

_Widely._

Never mind that they were doctored, and proven to be such within a week of their first publication. Jane had been drawing the majority of her funding at the time from her employment with a very conservative firm of private collectors and by the time the truth about the photos had come to light, they had already terminated her with extreme prejudice.

A lady archaeologist, they had suggested, while not perhaps _entirely_ beyond the bounds of propriety, should certainly be beyond the taint of scandal.

So Jane had regrouped, had found employment with an earnest collection of Ogdrian aesthetes and gamely undertaken to sort their motley collection of related artefacts. Nothing too exciting, of course. The Empire had not been of great duration. Their collection boasted mostly potsherds, a few obscure tablets with runes of indeterminate meaning, and a collection of secondhand reports painstakingly assembled on the nature of Ogdrian priestly practice, adapted to the honourary rites and rituals of the cult as best they were able, with Jane’s guidance.

As their numbers grew and funds increased, however, they decided to bankroll an expedition to the site of the former Empire, which _she_ was to helm. It had been unlike anything she’d imagined undertaking in her career, but the settled villages in the area were hardly uncharted, and it had seemed a pretty simple proposition overall.

Except . . . Adelaide.

Always, Adelaide.

Adelaide, leaning casually against the altar, propped up by her elbow, observing her men vanish in obedience to her demand that they collect and crate the artefacts from the inner sanctum.

Adelaide, whom, Jane realized belatedly, was going to have to explain where all this had come from. Somehow.

“What about provenance?” she wanted to know. “When somebody asks—”

“Plenty of people know better than to ask,” Adelaide sighed, trailing an oddly intimate fingertip down the calf of Jane’s leg, bared at the split inseam of her trousers. “And in any event, when I ransom some of these odds and bobs to your little cult, I don’t think they’ll want to look too closely.”

Jane writhed in almost unspeakable agitation.

“This is the _third_ time—”

“Yes, yes, I know, dear. Really _too_ bad of me, I agree, but what can be done? A girl must eat. And I’m really not as cut out for this as you. _So_ much easier to keep an eye on your comings and goings, and slip in to gather up the crumbs.”

“Crumbs? Adelaide you’ve been in at the three biggest moments of my career!”

“Actually,” Adelaide said delicately, “I think you will find they are the three biggest moments of _my_ career, Janie.”

Jane contorted in genuine rage at that, forgetting until too late the state of her blouse. As she arched furiously against the ropes that bound her to the altar, her top gaped open at every violated seam, and she found her camisole entirely insufficient to conceal . . . well. Everything.

Adelaide, she was startled to see, looked immediately at . . . well.

Everything.

No, not just looked. Stared. Openly. _Hungrily_ , even. So intently it made Jane feel faint and far away in a manner that no sealed-temple stale air could ever compete with. All at once, the particular nature of Adelaide’s interference with her in the past—intimate, personal, in the realm of their professional competition—fit her new understanding much better than her old.

Oh.

And—as she realized Adelaide’s appreciation had not waned, but rather strayed to linger on that split inseam with a delicacy far more menacing than the rough molestation of her men—oh _dear_.

Jane’s breathing quickened.

“Adelaide, you . . . I don’t . . .”

“Shh, dear.” Adelaide slid a thoughtful hand up her bare calf, languid, unbothered. “Just let me try something.”

Jane twisted, torn between an irrational desire to appeal to the oblivious henchmen packing crates in the next chamber, and an urgent need to keep this as contained as possible. Nothing good _ever_ came of her encounters with Adelaide getting out, and though they were rather far from what most people of their sort might term civilization, Jane knew they were not nearly as cut off as it might seem.

So she stayed quiet, breath coming quicker as Adelaide’s hand stroked gently, thoughtfully, higher and higher until—

Jane flinched, or tried to flinch, and in so doing looked Adelaide straight in the face.

Her green eyes were luminous, large and hungry, like a great cat’s as she stared down into Jane’s face.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “All done up like a gift . . . an offering . . .”

Jane did not want to think about what had happened to the previous altar’s offerings. But she also did not want to think about what Adelaide intended to do with the sacrifice she had secured for herself. Adelaide’s colour was high in a way Jane could not attribute to heat and stuffiness alone. Her eyes shone as she took her hand away from the softest part of Jane’s thigh and, before Jane could breathe much easier, gently parted the fabric of her blouse.

The camisole was cut away with a minute pair of sharp gold scissors Adelaide fished from a little leather purse belted to her waist. Jane’s breasts blushed along with the rest of her, and Adelaide palmed them as if they were holy objects lifted from the tomb of an Ogdrian High Priest.

“My dear,” she whispered. “Why is it that you _always_ taunt me by possessing what I want most?”

Jane could not even process that question, much less answer it, because Adelaide lowered those full, wicked lips to suckle softly at the very tip of Jane’s nipple, a little too hungrily to be gentle. Jane went completely still in mortification, but jumped and yelped as Adelaide punctuated her attention with a nip.

“G-get off me!” she pleaded, hoarse and almost tearful.

“Naughty,” Adelaide scolded. “And I am trying so hard to be gentle, too. Ingratitude, I call that. Must I punish you for complaining? Well, no matter. I have ample supplies here to help bring you to a more compliant frame of mind.”

Jane’s head reeled in a fogged, panicked remembrance of every implement of priestly rite and ritual that had clogged the floor of the chamber on her first entry. There had been rotted flails, catgut long since crumbled, but some things had been longer lasting . . .

“N-no,” she mumbled. “Please, don’t—”

“Hmm.” Adelaide squinted, as if appraising her manners. “Well. We’ll see, won’t we?”

Jane shut her eyes with a silent gasp of distress as Adelaide rummaged around the altar a moment, as if searching for the promised implements before she leisurely completed the opening of Jane’s blouse and kneaded, just the near side of cruelly, the other breast.

“You mark up beautifully, you know,” she said, as if appraising goods in a shop on the high street, and not casually violating her professional rival on the altar of an ancient priesthood. “Such pretty red lines. Like ornaments.”

And she kissed them so sweetly that Jane almost wept.

Then she turned her attentions to Jane’s trousers and Jane suddenly wished she’d begged her to linger longer at her breasts. Because Adelaide was stroking again, not her calf, or even her thigh, but the seam at the split in her drawers, and she was attending to the softly-furred flesh she found there with such ruthless expertise that to Jane’s everlasting horror, she found herself getting . . . _warm_. And wet. And . . . oh, dear God.

There was very little warning, only a wicked glint in Adelaide’s green eyes, before she lowered her face and pressed it—

Jane arched and fought the urge to cry out. Not from pleasure, exactly, not yet. But from something better than shame.

Adelaide’s mouth was hot and wet and she lipped delicately at the upper seam of Jane’s pussy like she’d been training all _her_ professional career for this moment. A sweet and aching tension built at that point, and was matched by a deeper flutter somewhere father . . . _in_.

Jane did not want to think about _in_. About the moisture that was gathering, sweetening within her, making her ache in an unaccountable, unspeakable way, coating Adelaide’s chin so that when she raised her face to study Jane’s with the consummate detachment of an expert, Jane saw her cheeks and chin glisten tellingly in the lamplight.

“You are entirely too easy to best,” Adelaide said sweetly. Then she pressed her face to Jane’s pussy again and the cruel nip that had been delivered to her nipple was visited on her again, a hundred times more painfully, a thousand times more effectively.

Jane came.

Wantonly, unceremoniously, a sweet explosion of satiation that radiated through her cunt and sent her hips up in fleshly gratitude even as Jane’s very soul recoiled from the truth of her own humiliation.

Adelaide, unconcerned with Jane’s soul but deeply appreciative of her flesh, crooned her own praise and slipped a finger . . . _in_.

Jane gasped.

If her hands had been free, she’d have hid her face. Instead she was mortified to know Adelaide could see every note of fear, shame and ecstasy that lit her features as Adelaide’s finger stroked gently into her, soon to be joined by a second.

“You’re practically shaking my hand here, Janie,” she tsked. “Tight as a glove. Am I _really_ the first to touch you here? I wouldn’t have thought it, but to feel you . . . see you . . . hmm?”

Jane, not really seeing how the admission could make anything worse, and definitely not counting on this level of intimacy her rude assault by the men just minutes before, simply nodded.

“Oh, my,” Adelaide said softly, and without further preamble a third finger was introduced, as if to cement the claim. Jane gasped, fought to cover her mouth, then belatedly understood what her damp inhalation followed by a feeble jiggling of her breasts must to do heighten Adelaide’s enjoyment.

“You are such a sweet, helpless little thing,” Adelaide smiled. “You really don’t know any better, do you, Jane? Trusting me as you did before, and so easily allowing me to best you the second time. And as for this! Well.”

A reassuring thumb settled on the swollen, aching bud at the top of Jane’s pussy.

“You will take a fourth for me, dear.”

A fourth . . ?

Jane had not fully grasped what she meant when the fourth finger breached.

She shrieked. She couldn’t help it. There was so _much_ , it was stretching her, no matter how wantonly she was soaking her captor’s hand into the bargain. Everything burned and screamed out, so it seemed she must too. Except _there_ , through the noise of her own pain, was a bright, sweet note of bitter comfort. Adelaide’s thumb worked skillfully at her clit so that even as Jane’s eyes flooded with tears at the invasion of the hand, she was being persuaded, pressured, _commanded_ to enjoy it, too.

The pressure mounted again, faster this time, and hotter too. It came as much from within as without, the relentless attention to her clit meeting and marrying with the brutal stretch and stroke of her cunt itself. Every part of her fought to resist, even as every part of her cried out in wanton desperation to be conquered.

And Adelaide conquered her, again.

The second orgasm was so much better, and so much worse, than the first. Jane’s spread legs shook and spasmed in their bonds. Her breath shattered around her sobs, and very far off, as if from another room, another place altogether, she heard a thin stream of pleading _moremoremoremoremore_.

It never really did fully penetrate that the voice was her own.

When she returned to her senses, Adelaide was standing by her head, smiling.

“Here,” she said, and dipped a finger gently between Jane’s lips—the other ones, this time. “Don’t you taste so sweet?”

Jane trembled, and forbore to bite down. She knew that could not end well for her. Instead she dutifully lapped at her own juices and, when the hand was removed, unashamedly begged.

“Please, won’t you just—”

“Oh, you can’t say you’re in a hurry for this to end, can you, dear? Not when we have so little time left as it is. I am sure they’re almost done in there, so I can’t drag this out _much_ longer, but . . . well. After I’ve been so good to you, surely you can’t begrudge me a little ride too?”

“Ride?”

Jane would not have been able to work out what that meant on her own. Not without Adelaide illustrating the request by swinging nimbly up onto the altar, facing Jane’s splayed, booted feet and coolly adjusting the buttons at the waist of her culottes before lowering to straddle Jane’s face.

Jane had just enough time to shriek half a whispered protest, when Adelaide’s pussy sealed her lips and muffled any further cries. The sweet musk of her filled Jane’s mouth and overwhelmed her senses. She tried to draw breath through her mouth but the slow, lazy grind against her lips and chin forestalled her efforts. She breathed through her nose instead, clumsily, and struggled to quell rising panic. What if Adelaide bore down? Or sat too long, or—

Even as she wondered, Adelaide eased up. Jane’s relief lasted just a moment or two, though, as she rapidly understood that the shift in position was so Adelaide could lean forward and position something cool and smooth at the slick, swollen lips of Jane’s pussy.

It settled with thick, evil promise at the entrance of her, and Jane felt a cold thrill of apprehension match it from within.

“Wh—” she burbled. Adelaide shifted her pussy against Jane’s mouth.

“Don’t tickle like that, pet, or I’ll need to sit on you properly. Now just spread them a little, there’s a good girl.”

Jane was not conscious of actually complying, but something must have happened to ease the invasion because the _thing_ split her lips the moment after, the chilly bulbous knob of it, whatever _it_ was, and she moaned against Adelaide's pussy grinding lazily against her mouth.

“Mmm,” Adelaide sighed. “Now that felt quite nice, Janie, you may do that again.”

Rather than trust in her captive’s compliance, she advanced the object another inch or two. The thickness of the invasion intensified and Jane moaned again. Adelaide rubbed responsively; approvingly.

“You’re so good with your mouth, Jane. Did you know that about yourself? Makes me want to keep you here all day. But I suppose they’ll be done in there soon. Mustn’t let them see me like this, must I? It wouldn’t be dignified.”

Adelaide’s conscious dignity of her own position inflamed Jane’s ire and humiliation in equal parts. Oh, of course _she—_

Then the object advanced. Withdrew. Advanced. As she fucked Jane gently, relentlessly, with the object Adelaide ground against her, _hard_ , and Jane burbled helplessly against the thick, wet obstruction against her mouth. Adelaide ground again, gasping this time, then rapidly, frantically, rutted her mons against Jane’s chin. As she ground, she thrust the object cruelly, shallowly, so that Jane felt the same agonizing blend of pain and something richer build within.

“That’s it Janie,” Adelaide panted, “feel that?” She twisted the object so Jane screamed, without volume, into her cunt. “That’s the altar knife. It looks so pretty sticking out of you. All golden and gleaming and—“

Jane came. Helplessly, humiliatingly, cunt clenching on the handle of the Ogdrian altar knife. And when she came she sobbed, so that Adelaide’s grinding against her chin ended at last in a flood of syrupy spend, coating Jane’s chin and cheeks and glistening, she knew, in the lamplight of the sacred temple.

Then Adelaide swung off her, poised even in dismount, and pressed a kiss to her cunt-slicked lips.

* * *

When the men returned from the inner sanctum, packing crates fully loaded, they found their captive rather less inclined to struggle than she had been when they left her. Their employer they found leaning against the stone just as they had left her, casually polishing the golden handle of an altar knife.


End file.
